Test Drive 18

[sixthiteration]

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→ Holds and applications are always open. Holds are required for all applications.

→ Choose one of the scenarios below or make up your own. Feel free to try multiple scenarios.

→ Write LOGS or TEXT prompts, or both.

→ THERE ARE ONLY THREE RULES FOR THE TDM:

1. It has to take place in the 6I universe.
2. It cannot be the character's arrival into the game.
3. Please only test new characters who do not have a version in the game. Our cast list is here.

→ TDM threads cannot be used to meet AC, but if the character is accepted into the game and both players agree, you may keep the CR.

→ Character want ads are here.

Prompts

Summer is here, villagers! Sunny skies, warm weather and plenty of weirdness are on the horizon. Don't forget your sunscreen!

1. THE MILK FOR FREE - Somehow, someway, you have been wrangled into milking one of the GROFFLES recently rounded up by your fellow villagers. Maybe you felt guilty for not helping, or maybe you owe someone scary money. Point is, it's just you, a bucket, and your green milk-giving friend. Just a tip: Groffles are good-natured, but you probably shouldn't squeeze too hard.


2. LIGHTNING ROD - Earlier today, you made your way into the upper foothills — Were you hunting? Maybe just roaming? — and you came into contact with a BLUE LILY. Maybe you thought it was so pretty you've carried it back to the village with you. If your house didn't have electricity before, it definitely does now!


3. MEET CUTE - It's a classic: You've gone down into the 6I INN'S dirt-walled root cellar off the kitchen. Maybe you needed supplies or were dropping off some fresh produce. Whatever the case, someone's followed you down for a similar reason... and the door has jammed shut behind them. Seriously, it's not budging. Enjoy getting to know your new best friend in the cozy light of the furnace!


4. WILDCARD - Choose your own adventure. Maybe play powers roulette.

Texts

All characters are fitted with a smart watch-like device on their left wrist, which they can use to send text messages to other villagers.

- Texts may only be 140 characters long
- No video or voice, text only
- No usernames, everyone is listed by their name

Please list your CHARACTER NAME, CANON & PROMPT in your SUBJECT LINE.

Comments

Domino | Deadpool | 1

[improbables]

We all have those moments in life where we wonder to ourselves, how in the hell did we get here? Lately, Domino's had a lot of them — Way more than normal, even, which is saying something for someone who's traditionally been prone to throw caution out the window and into a hurricane-force wind that blows it across the country. This, though... This might really take the cake. Like, the whole fucking thing, frosting roses and all.

In this particular WTF moment, she is sitting on a wobbly three-legged stool next to an animal only slightly smaller and less stinky than the Juggernaut, staring at its bloated pink udder. Seriously, how did she get talked into this? She's never milked anything, much less a big, shaggy house that gives Star Wars milk, and... Well, let's just say that things have not been going her way lately. As in, since she dog-paddled into this place.

The good news is the animal seems chill. And how hard can this be, right? Thousands of people milk cows and goats and whateverthefuckelse everyday. This is just a bigger version.

"OK," she tells it, absently waving away a fly, "I'm going in. I apologize in advance for touching your tits. Just do me a favor and please don't kick me in the head."

She wraps tentative hands over the two closest teats, sucks in a slow breath, pulls, and... pale green milk dribbles into the bucket below. "Well, that's progress," she allows, as the groffle huffs out a patient sigh. She tries again, a bit more firmly, and grins as the dribble becomes a stream. "Hell yeah," Domino says, sputters out some groffle fur, then gets enthusiastically to filling the bucket.

Too enthusiastically, as it turns out. The only warning she gets is an irritated lowing from the groffle before it jerks away. It doesn't kick her in the head, but it does kick the bucket, and a jumble of pointless directives fly through Domino's mind — NO! THAT WAY! STOP! — before the milk slops all over her and the bucket clatters back to the ground.

Sitting, dripping green milk from her chin, Domino cuts the now-calmed groffle a sharp look. "Maybe I should have been more specific when we had that little chat."

[freightcars]

It's not that he's eavesdropping, or... spying, whatever the term is for accidentally catching someone doing something really weird. Rubbernecking? He vaguely thinks he's heard that somewhere, but it's from somewhere in that gray area of time where his brains were scrambled eggs. Anyway, he's not trying to be... rude, or anything, but- I mean, it's kind of hard not to notice what's going down.

He's not laughing, per say, when she gets covered in pale green beast milk, but there is a discernible amusement in his eyes if one cares enough to look closely enough. It's mixed in with a bit of distaste, and it's not her but rather the whole spectacle. The giant utter, the dribbling tits filled with green milk, really the entire situation.

"That..." He starts, stops, shakes his head, then starts again. "Is the most disgusting thing I've ever seen."

It's a perhaps unwanted, unexpected voice from somewhere off to her left. He stands a few feet off, arms crossed, being probably the least helpful human on the island.

[tosavecocoon]

Vanille has always had a fondness for animals. Gran Pulse was teeming with wild ones and even the most dangerous ones could be sweet when they wanted to. Sometimes she would walk through the woods or the village and half expect to see a sheep or the shell of a giant adamantoise off in the distance. Then she would blink and the illusion or memory was gone. She would remember where she was and that, while she might see a sheep someday, she wouldn't likely find an adamantoise.

The lack of oretoises is probably a good thing; Vanille doubts the villagers here would be able to deal with one, especially since most seem to have gone without human contact for a very long time. They're completely wild and very dangerous.

Still, creatures like the groffles catch her attention very easily and she's wandered over in time to get wrangled into milking one herself. She hasn't started yet, which is likely just as well, given that she's arrived in time to see someone's bucket get completely overturned. Vanille stifles a laugh, looking properly guilty at laughing at all, before stepping a little closer.

"You were probably doing it a little too hard," she explains, her head tilted a little as she examines the scene before her. At least the groffle looks peaceful enough, like it just got pinched and isn't about to go off on a rampage. "Do you want some help?"

steve rogers | mcu

[ex_enlisted288]

A: Meet Cute

[ Of the multitude of occupations theoretically available to him, Steve would never once have guessed that amateur farmer would ever top that list. But here he is, in a strange place, learning how to plant vegetables and then harvest them when the time is right. Or season is right. Or both, actually, because no single vegetable species is the same when it comes to being ripe. (Ripe is the correct word, right?) He also does odd chores around when he can, preferring to keep busy.

Anyway, he's perfectly content to walk a basket of freshly harvested veggies over to the Inn. If his luck holds out, maybe he can talk to the manager about getting a winter job, but they aren't there. Steve makes his way into the cellar, setting the basket on top of some boxes. He can leave a note for the cook.

Before he can do that, though, someone comes down the stairs behind him. ]

I'll be out of your way in just a minute.



B: Text

Anyone interested in going on a hike tomorrow?

b

[lefthandfree]

count me in

Bucky Barnes | MCU

[freightcars]

meet cute;

He's not a farmer, that's for damn sure. In an effort to provide some kind of contribution to this whole place he'd taken up trying to farm, what little experience he had in Wakanda was a poor foundation for agricultural prowess. Nevertheless he tried, and apparently that's what matters, because the damn plants started growing. Sprouting seeds turned into tiny little leafy stems, which turned into actual edible fruits and vegetables.

Granted, he's lucky to get one or two to a vine, but it counts, and it's with a sort of pathetic sense of pride that he hauls a meager basket of produce to the communal root cellar. It's also with a sense of pride that he doesn't startle or react to the sound of someone entering the room behind him, and boy did that take some exposure therapy. He's calm, though, quiet, as he unloads his haul into their designated places on the shelves. It's only when he tries to leave that things go to shit.

The door won't open. He jiggles the handle, consternated, then tries again a bit more aggressively.

"What the hell?" Comes out a little too loudly to be a mutter. He pauses long enough to set his basket to one side, then resumes with both hands trying to tug the damn thing open. Nothing doing. With a huff, he glances over his shoulder at the other occupant. "Hey- got a sec?"

text;

need advice on how to get rid of one of those crocodile dogs
it's been camping in my front yard for three days
I can barely keep plants alive, let alone
whatever the hell this thing is

text

[womanofvalue]

Have you tried increasingly loud noises? Flashes of light?
Please tell me you haven't named it.

Sirius Black | Harry Potter | wildcard 4

[lechiennoir]

Sirius is having a staring contest with a croc-dog. Well, if he had his proper powers, he would be having a friendly game of tug of war as Padfoot. Now, though, he’s holding the dog’s gaze until he tosses a piece of fish for it to catch. At least the creature’s taken a liking to him; people tend to avoid you when you look like you’ve been stuck in prison for a few years. He looks a little thin, haunted, but it disappears when he gives the dog-thing a grin.

“Alright, do you know how to play fetch? It’s not so hard.”

[digging]

The village is awash in ugly, hairless crocodile dogs. Despite hiking out everyday to get a better read on the terrain, Karen still hasn't figured out where they're coming from. If somebody's willing to give them a little attention or some leftovers, they're just there, ready to enthusiastically take it and then never, ever leave.

Her own actual giant, shaggy dog is thankfully lazing around at home today; Aretha just can't resist the allure of another canine, even if it looks like a swamp thing.

"I hope you don't mind being adopted," she says now, stopping a few feet away and hefting her bag higher onto her shoulder with a wry smile. "Because you've probably just made a friend for life."

Lito Rodriguez | Sense8 | 1

[artoflove]

How Lito got roped into this situation, he doesn't know.

Honestly, how he's even been surviving here has been a difficult thing to answer, because he's so used to Hernando cooking all his food and his assistants doing all his work. The most that Lito's had to do in recent days has been to determine what his motivation is. Right now, apparently, his motivation is to somehow milk a creature because otherwise, he's not going to get anything to drink today. It is, possibly, the worst thing that has ever happened to anyone in the history of anything.

At least, that's what it feels like.

He's been trying for thirty minutes and he's collapsed to his knees in front of the animal (who's gently chewing), a bucket in his hands, and a look of agony on his face. "Why won't you let me milk you?" He's so thirsty and he's so tired and he misses Hernando, and he just wants to go home.

He shouldn't even be having dairy, it makes him bloat, but he's so tired of everything else that he wants a glass of milk.

Lito Rodriguez | Sense8 | 1

[dann_0]

"Are you sure that is a cow?" Danny smiles slightly as he comes up behind Lito, carrying a bucket of milk himself. It is something that still feels strange to the Jersey boy but at least he has learned. He sets the bucket down and then comes over to place a hand on Lito's shoulder, crouching down next to him. "Need some help, buddy?"

Dean Winchester | Supernatural

[righteously]

01: Fishing

Dean's never been one for staying in a single place for very long; even once they settled in the bunker he scarcely went two weeks before hitting the road to do a job. Now that he's here he finds himself restless and bored. Cabin fever was strong with this one, so he does his best to find ways to break up the monotony. One of the ways he figures he can kill two birds with one stone and contribute at the same time is by catching some large mouth whatevers on one of the many stream inlets around the island.

Except once he settles in a chair, breeze blowing, gentle sun bearing down, utter silence around him, he literally bores himself to sleep. A fishing line tugs gently, propped up on a holder and demanding attention. Dean, on the other hand, is sprawled out in a fishing chair, legs extended, head lolled back, dead ass asleep and full-on snoring.

This place is a literal friggen' snoozefest.

02: chop chop

One thing they always need is firewood. Most of the stoves in the houses and inns run on wood burning, and not everyone in town is equipped to handle manual labor and not keel over in the process. Dean's one of the people who can, and he finds it a little cathartic to slam something sharp into something dull and split it in half. And so he does, over and over, driving an axe into a log with some intensely bottled up aggression. Chop. Chop. Chop-

Except he'd been going too hard, apparently, and the head of the ax flies off of the handle the next time he rears back. It hurtles through the air with deadly speed, impeding itself into a tree directly to the left of someone's head. Oops.

02

[3ofswords]

Pausing on the precipice of danger and watching it rattle on without you was a large part of Kira's life, shortly before arriving. It's only recently that his gift for the right place and the right time reappeared, and it's intermittent at best. This one, he's putting down to luck.

Or the Observers just haven't finished growing another of him in their underground pods.

Still, his last near-miss was close enough to leave a mark, and he reflexively pushes his hair back along the scar--and the side of his head so nearly given a fresh shave. "Would you really kill a guy for looking," he asks, swallowing the moment's panic and pushing on instead. "This is as much entertainment as I get."

Sam Wilson | MCU - 1

[notabirdcostume]

If given a choice, Sam would have chosen to just go back to chopping veggetables in the kitchen. Hell, he'd take FEEDING the animals over this. Sam isn't sure what about him says 'I can milk this thing' but apparently someone saw it on him and decided, sure, let's have this guy do the milking today.

"This is because of that damn goat, isn't it," he mutters, thinking back to the goat he had left in that jail cell all those months ago. Actually, according to conversations, it might be more like a year.

Sam sighs, dropping the bucket onto the grass. He vaguely remembers how to do this -- again thanks to the goat -- but he's never seen a creature quite like this before so he's not sure how similar they may actually be. From this perspective about the only thing they have in common is that they are hairy, smelly, have hooves, and produce milk apparently. Which probably means they might be as ornery as a goat and Sam figures he should probably put the creature at ease first before reaching anywhere that might alarm it.

"All right, not sure if they gave you a name but for the sake of simplicity I'm going to call you Lady. This is weird for me, but I hope you plan on being cooperative about this," he says as he approaches the creature. It paws at the ground, but otherwise doesn't move. Sam extends a hand and when it seems the creature will remain calm, he starts rubbing her snout. "There, see? Not so bad."

[freightcars]

He's not sure what good thing he's done to earn this karma, but god bless whatever it was. If Sam didn't want an audience it's a little too late to make that clear, because Bucky was conveniently in the vicinity and now he's got one. From somewhere to Sam's right there's a long, low scraping sound. Should he glance over he'll see Bucky very deliberately, very loudly pulling a chair across the nearest porch right up to the edge closest to Sam.

He sits himself right down and settles in, because this ought to be good. He's got a carrot in one hand, which he takes a big ol' snapping bite out of and loudly chews once he's settled.

Don't mind him. Just here to observe.

Porthos du Vallon | Musketeers | 2

[du_vallon]

It's not that he'd meant for any of this to happen, but Porthos is going to learn a lesson pretty quickly about why he shouldn't be touching strange plants he's got no knowledge of. Maybe if Aramis had been around, he'd have been able to tell Porthos to not touch the strange thing, but maybe he'd have encouraged it. All that Porthos had seen was that it looked a bit like a fleur-de-lys and he'd picked it to take back to the inn where he's been staying.

That's when things had started to get very strange.

For one, when he'd arrived back, the lights started flickering as soon as Porthos touched them. Given that he's still getting used to them, it'd been strange. When he'd put his hand on one of the machines and it started to hum a little more, Porthos began to think that just maybe, he'd done something he wasn't supposed to.

Of course, that means that if he can do this to things, what happens to people? It's why he gets so worried when the door opens and someone looks like they're approaching. "Careful," he warns, mentally reminding himself to speak English, as much of a strain as it is with a second language he's not totally comfortable with yet. "Unless you want a big shock, I wouldn't get near me."

His hand isn't sparking, but it's definitely doing something.

"Unless you like a little spark?"

[thekittenqueen]

She had seen the lights flashing from the fields. It didn't take much to surmise that someone had touched something they shouldn't, as this had happened before. Despite her distaste for electricity, Margaery had grown used to it over time. These were the moments that reminded her how dangerous it could be. An electric spark could start several machines and cause the lights to flash. Unless he knew how to control it, it could cause serious harm as well.

Still, his quip made her smile, easing a bit of her concern. He wasn't passed out and hadn't harmed himself. "What an offer. I provide my own spark." She returned easily, glancing around the room, watching as some of the lights flashed again.

"You went flower picking?"

jean grey | x-men blue | 2

[ashandflame]

Jean has been to plenty of strange places in her (admittedly short) lifetime but this has got to rank highly among the strangest. She hasn't been able to access her powers at all since coming here, not even a spark, and while it feels like she's lost a limb in a way, it's also a relief.

If she's not a powerful telekinetic and telepath, the Phoenix Force isn't going to want anything to do with her anymore, is it? They're on decent enough terms right now, considering the coming-back-to-life thing, but Jean doesn't trust it as far as she can throw it. She's done with cosmic entities sharing her headspace.

Not one to sit idly by, after taking a few days to survey supplies back at the inn that serves as the base of operations she heads out to the wilderness so she can start getting an idea of what's around her and where she fits in with all of it. The beautiful blue flowers are something unlike anything she's ever seen before - and apparently keep summoning lightning bolts.

"Whoa," she says, sending an arc of electricity from her fingers. It's not what she's used to, no, but it's definitely something she can work with. She gathers up as many of the flowers as she can and walks back toward the village, a ball of lightning hovering over one palm very much like telekinetic energy used to before she came here.

"Not exactly equivalent exchange but I'll take it."

[frankensteinian]

Erik spends a good amount of time at the inn himself, so he's already aware of Jean's presence here, and has figured out that this is a different Jean than the one who was here before. But as long as she doesn't have a problem with him, then he won't have one with her.

He's known for a long time about powers being nonexistent, even if he's not likely to ever be used to it. There are powers of a sort around here, but he hasn't been able to figure out any sense to them yet. And he's never heard anything about plants having anything to do with it.

Idly he wonders if there's a plant out there that can give him something close to the powers he can't access anymore, even as he knows that nothing short of a full restoration of them will satisfy him. "Where did you find that?"

John Blake | The Dark Knight Rises

[oversight]

A.)
Known around for being very much a team player when it comes to community upkeep, it's really no surprise to see John Blake hanging around the greenhouse on any given day. His dark hair is always neat and combed, his equally dark eyes are always sharp, and being of average height, he really doesn't cut much of an intimidating figure. But brush past him too closely and it's obvious he's a solid guy that hasn't shirked away from hard labor in some time.

He's usually seen providing some form of manual labor - digging or building or moving earth - but once in a while he pops by with some collection of flora plucked from the surrounding area, intent on doing his part to provide some basic stock for the near future.

This time it's tubers, the collection tucked into a very simply woven basket. It's not a significant amount of food, but it's out and on display, available for anyone looking to do a little gardening of their own, or whoever else might need to fill out their dinners for the evening.

"Take what you want," he says in passing. "Gonna be lookin' for goldbell next, if you've got any leads."


B.)
For having such a familiar atmosphere, there are at least a few reminders that this is not planet Earth (at least not as Blake had last known it). For hours at a time he can fool himself — hours where he absently eats or works so deeply on a project he doesn't bother lifting his head. It's like walking into a room and acclimating to a smell: try as you might, after an notably short amount of time, you find yourself used to something that felt so out of place just moments before. It breeds a sense of confidence — an idea that John's got everything handled (at least as best as a man from a technologically advanced background can without such accessible conveniences).

Whether he's purposefully and profusely overlooked it that day or not, the reminder does comes up, and when it does, it's usually in the form of something relatively innocuous. (Was that a mouse? No, just something that looks like one.) And when it's not? Well...

"Think I ate somethin' I—" He makes an unpleasant noise, hand outstretching to brace him on a wall as his body tries to right some kind of powerful wrong. "Think I ate somethin' I shouldn't've—" John professes, and while it's unlikely he's actually poisoned himself with something his transplanted ass should not be digesting, it is the first thing that tends to come to mind in situations like this.

Out and about in evening and as he is, half-stumbling his way home, it wouldn't be hard to mistake him for a drunk.


C.)
Wildcard! Anything goes~

B

[freightcars]

Bucky tends to keep to himself; he's not exactly the Avengers and looking for causes to champion or people to rescue is a little more outgoing than his typical motivation. He's not exactly an asshole, though, and seeing some guy stumbling around the town when he knows for a fact alcohol is hard to come by? Ignoring it seems like an asshole move. And so he approaches, cautiously but with some obvious notes of concern hovering over his expression.

"You alright?" He calls from some feet away, hands braced awkwardly at his sides like he's torn between reaching out to steady the guy and folding in on himself somehow simultaneously. "You- uh- you need a hand or something?"

Aragorn | Lord of the Rings

[onen_i_estel]

Lightening Rod

It was Aragorn's first real trip out into the mountains after arriving in the village and had no intentions of returning for at least a few days. Perhaps the land would give him the answers he set out to find and if not, he would come back knowing a bit about the odd place that brought him to it. Very much against his will, even though he appeared unnaturally calm about it all.

He arrived back at the settlement at dawn on the fourth day with his bag on his back and a few shrubs sticking out the back of it. He was good with the flora in his own world, yet there were some that he'd collected that he would need to study more. Like the blue and white flower in his hand.

Venturing into the inn, Aragorn couldn't ignore the sudden brightening of the room. Nor could he understand how it was happening. There were no candles, only clear glass balls attached to fixtures that seemed to glow on their own. The Ranger had no idea he was the one making it happen.

Stepping into the dining room, the same thing happened and Aragorn furrowed a brow at the walls as the room brightened again, this time brighter. Over the next 5 minutes, the inn went dark to light as the Ranger put his stuff on one of the tables and tried to ignore the odd phenomenon.

Wild Card

Got something else in mind? Let's do it!

[arwen_undomiel]

All of this time, these many long years she's been watching humans, knowing them, developing a particular, warm fondness for them, and now Arwen finds herself ashamed to discover how little she ever understood of them. Of all the strangeness of this world and its particular enchantments, the simple lack is what strikes her most about her place within it: The lack of connection, of empathy, of reaching out with mind and heart and grasping hold of fundamental understanding. There have been moments she's been nearly driven to tears over it; not on her own behalf, but on theirs, for she was given the grace of these gifts for nearly 3000 years, but humans... They've felt them not at all.

There is no weeping this day, however, but only the still-disconcerting sensation of confusion as the light flickers on, off, on again.

On bare feet she steps quietly down the stairs and pauses at the bottom, a hand laid over the bottom of the bannister as she watches Aragorn's back, muscles moving smoothly beneath his thin shirt as he unpacks.

"You've returned, I think, with more than you bargained on," she softly says, dark hair slipping over her shoulder with the softly curious tilt of her head.

hotdog castle | that franchise about people in hoodies

[oorah]

free milk

There are creatures here, but they're not dangerous or hideous like the ones he'd seen the last place he was. An awful place, but one he had thrived in. He pats over the groffle's flank to try and calm the gentle giant, smiling up at the rapidly appearing rainclouds. Not a day for chores, you say? Nonsense. Raindays are the only days one will be likely to spot Frank (or "Hotdog" as he insists on being called before remembering himself) doing various insane tasks not at all suited for the weather. Like milking a groffle, or mending a fence, or most recently: building a treehouse. It's almost identical to the one he'd erected in Reims over the course of several rainy days just like this one - or like it's about to be, the water only just now touching down. It's only a sprinkle at first but it's enough to mask him humming a soft tune, just enough to remind himself how to make noise and the groffle doesn't seem to mind it either.

When he's done his task, Frank thanks her with a muttered Thattagirl before returning her to the stable and carrying on with all the menial labor he'd been putting off until the rain was heavy enough to cover the sound. He always has to stay moving and stay busy on days like today, preferring to save his lying about for a Sunnier occasion. No, when it rains, he goes to work, and it's also when he might spare his voice on a passerby. A muttered 'hello' may as well be a whooping holler from the peculiar neighbor you have probably had better luck texting with than trying to conversate with aloud. If you've been dying for more than five words on a screen, now's your chance.

meet cute

He's been here a few weeks, long enough to get the lay of the land and start building a routine. His steps make no sound as he descends the stairs to the storeroom, despite his hulking frame, so it isn't any wonder someone would follow him thinking they were alone. Almost everything Frank does is soundless and he seems to prefer it that way, for whatever reason. He doesn't talk about it because he doesn't talk about anything. That would be loud, and the only "safe" method of speaking that anyone here would understand is texting. Frank really hates texting.

He's starting to unpack his bounty from the greenhouse to neatly put away when he hears the loud wrench of the door sticking. Actively flinching at the unpleasant sound, his eyes meet those of the person he's stuck with, an uneasiness in their depths. He points to them in lieu of greeting, rude maybe except followed by a sharply dealt OK symbol formed with roughly calloused fingers. You OK? It's rudimentary and doesn't get across exactly what he needs to know, but it's sound as a first priority, he thinks. He misses sign language the most about life in Reims, or for the others like him that had been there for the longest time, sometimes a meaningful gaze was enough to convey what was needed. Frank shoulders in to try his luck with the door, but no dice. It's like watching an old short of Mickey Mouse - comical and soundless even as he throws all of his considerable weight into the object to try and get it to budge. He really hates small spaces. Even moreso when they're filled with people. And worst of all: people who expect him to talk to them. Frank sits down on the step with all the over-the-top drama of a big, exasperated sigh, but the theme here is silence in case you haven't picked up on it yet.

wildcard/exploration

Inexplicably, rain or shine, Frank will be found every Sunday morning at Town Hall. Mostly wandering, but if you stop him he won't be as hesitant to speak as usual. He might even be amiable to having a real conversation. He spends a lot of time the rest of the week exploring their surroundings. His steps are always light and very nearly silent, so be careful he doesn't catch you by surprise. If he steps on a twig or a crunchy leaf or something, expect him to grimace and look around like he's waiting for an attack. The Rundown Village reminds him of what it was like discovering the ruins of Paris the first time, and he mills around uncovering what he can every so often. There are very few places he won't go, but if he's spotted don't take it to heart if he'd rather duck out of view than explain himself.

[ if you want something specific or have another idea, hit me! happy to roll with whatever :) ]

Meet Cute

[digging]

To suggest he's changed would be an understatement. Yes, he's still fundamentally Frank — In his mannerisms, his gruff demeanor, the way he openly disapproves of Karen's increasingly free-wheeling forays into the wilderness — and Frank Castle has, in Karen's experience, never been a particularly gregarious sort anyway. But there are parts of him now that feel shifted, a little off center, like she can't quite grasp hold of those fundamentals as firmly as before.

She knows him; she's always known him, from the start. But seeing past the stoic facade is a little more tricky these days than ever before.

Sighing herself, Karen steps past him and bangs a fist on the trap door. She's never had a problem with making noise.

"HELLO?" she yells. "ANYONE OUT THERE?" She can hear Arthea's worried whine on the other side, the soft scrape of puppy claws at the wood, and she tries pushing on it with her shoulder despite knowing it's clearly futile. She isn't getting past anything that's stymied the Punisher.

Biting her lip, she affords the door a final, long look and then turns to tromp back down the stairs, where she sits beside Frank with another, softer sigh. The light is thin in here, but she's used enough to picking him out in darkness, and she looks a long moment at his profile, limned in the glow from the furnace.

"On the bright side, if a tornado comes through, we're already set," she says, pulling the weight of her hair back from her face.

Oerba Yun Fang ‡ Final Fantasy XIII

[twistedjudge]

( Lightning Rod )

Unlike a lot of other people in the village, too, Fang had no real care for having a roof over her head at night, and even preferred sleeping in the open in some days. It meant hunting trips could last longer than a day, as long as she could rig a way to bring her kills home. This particular night, she found a patch of flowers growing up next to the rocks against the base of the hills she was walking though on the track of something she hadn't identified yet; the flowers were bright blue even in the moonlight, with traces of silver on them and in the air around them, almost seeming to be a piece of the moon on earth, silly as that notion was. They weren't the flowers that had covered the land around Oerba, but they were pretty in their own way - Vanille would likely enjoy one. Or several. Rigging her camp for the night up in the branches of a sturdy tree, Fang wrapped up in the blanket she'd brought with her to keep warm, and fell asleep quickly.

When she woke in the morning, it wasn't quite dawn, and she jumped down to the ground without much of an issue. The wrapped pack of meat she'd hung from a lower branch was undisturbed, and there was no sign of any sort of wildlife disturbing the area around her tree. Re-situating herself to continue her trek, Fang remembered to pick three of the blue flowers to bring back to Vanille, handing them carefully and lacing them through her hair for lack of anywhere better to put them without squashing them.

A couple of hours later, the sun above the horizon but still weak, she spotted something glinting out of the corner of her eye. Turning to inspect it, the weak sun proved to be shining on a rock that had a reflective side - metal, she was eager to see as she stepped closer, a fairly large chunk of it half-buried in the rock. If there was a smith in the village and she brought this back, perhaps she could have a spear again - a sword would do, but the ones in the storage room weren't made for hunting, nor were they her preferred weapon. But a spear... now that would be something she'd gladly pay for.

But she didn't need the rock, just the metal, and she frowned as she realized that with the meat she was hauling, there was just too much to carry back easily. "Now what'm I going to do with you," she mused, resting her hand against the metal, narrowing her eyes as she studied the problem.

Unknowingly, a spark jumped from her hand into the metal as she contemplated - and and an instantly later, the rock exploded with a high-pitched crack and a flash of light, throwing her several feet off and landing on her back with unusual lack of grace, the air knocked out of her and a distinct smoky haze in the air around her.


( Meet Cute )

There wasn't a lot of storage and preserving here, that she could see. Someone had built a primitive smokehouse down by the river, but overall there wasn't enough game to feed everyone in the village and have enough left over to save. While that made her frown with concern for the state of the village over the cold times, there wasn't a lot that could be done about that right now, and not a lot of salt to help with preservation (why was there never enough salt anywhere). Still, she'd do what she could, which meant that Fang had volunteered to carry down some of the extra stores to the root cellar in the in for future use. The man in charge of the farms seemed to have his head on straight, at least, knowing how to get the best yields from his crops, even if half of them were unfamiliar to her. Fang just hoped that having to grow so much food wasn't parching the soil and making it unusable for later; but that wasn't her job, and she wouldn't presume to tell the farmers how to do their jobs if they didn't try to tell her how to do hers.

One load of potatoes later, Fang started to head back for another basketful - when the door swung shut with a loud slam. She didn't jump, but she did mutter a curse under her breath, running forward and slamming her own body into the door, but it was a lost cause. The log propping it open had obviously slipped, letting the door fall along its center of gravity, and the log had probably fallen over that as well, effectively pinning it shut. Likely a rescue would be coming soon, but Fang was only patient when she wanted to be, and right at that moment she didn't want to be.

"D'you see an axe or somethin' lying around in here?" she demanded, turning to the person that had been roped into being a pack mule along with her. "Or do you feel like hitting this door really hard with me?"


( Texting )

I think I blew something up. Is that possible here?

[enterprisingheart]

It's not commonplace, but it shouldn't be entirely impossible?

John Druitt | Sanctuary

[borneinblood]

{Meet Cute}

For all that it's not exactly the sort of place he'd expected to turn up, nor anywhere he recognizes, Druitt has been settling into the village surprisingly well, all things considered. There is, of course, the persistent and lingering matter of his temper but thus far, at least, there's been nothing to test the boundaries of that rage. Nothing to pull him down the darker paths that he has sometimes been prone to.

Today, however, might just be the day those same boundaries are put to the test.

He'd mostly been heading down to the cellar to take stock of what happens to be down there. After all, while he certainly isn't capable of teleporting at the moment (and he has tried), there's very little to suggest that to be a permanent state of affairs. It's only when the door refuses to open again that the old familiar irritation begins creep back in, for all that it isn't immediately apparent in his posture as he turns towards the other person in the cellar.

"There wouldn't happen to be another way out, would there?"

{texting}

I don't suppose there'd be anyone here to which the term "Abnormal" has any meaning, would there?

[oorah]

the word normal means way less if i'm honest

[ to him personally, he means, not that he specifies. ]

Legolas | The Lord of the Rings

[strings_attached]

✿milk✿
The benefits of learning the flora and fauna of this place were at the top of Legolas's list of items to look on the bright side of. Being brought here against his will, away from his friends and family and home, was naturally a sore spot. As ever, Legolas chose not to dwell overlong on the dark thoughts which might come to drag him down with them in their misery.

Rather, survival to him meant making the best of even the worst situations. The groffles were one of his favorite new animals to learn about here. They were large, strong, and mostly quite friendly. Legolas had been asked by a friend to help gather some milk for cooking and in exchange, he would be welcomed to the meal. He could hardly ask for a better arrangement. He could almost hear his dwarf friend's witty remarks about the elf brought so low as to milk a cow.

The thought brought a smile to his face as he set about his work. The groffle was eating some fresh grass which Legolas had brought it, and he was crouched by its side for the deed. Over the sound of the sploit, sploit, sploit of green milk hitting the pail, he heard someone approaching and looked over his shoulder for whom it could be. "Come to help?"

✿text✿
Anyone care to braid fishing nets with me? I can teach you. I appreciate the company.

[onen_i_estel]

Despite his own worries, Aragorn took a little longer to come to terms with the sudden displacement and separation from his love, Arwen, his friends and of course kinsmen. Not to mention the fact that he was now a king and if he was there...

But things were made slightly better with the discovery and blessing that saw his elf friend arriving into this realm, as well. And to say watching him, the Prince of Mirkwood, take on such mortal tasks was far more amusing than he felt he could admit.

Yet, it was there in the grin he gave Legolas when he arrives and leans up against the frame of the entrance way.

"It seems you are doing well on your own," Aragorn replies.

Anders Johnson | Almighty Johnsons | Meet Cute

[godofretrievers]

it's only down from here

Anders hates this fucking place. There's not enough alcohol, his Bragi power is gone like when Axl was sick, and now he's searching for a place to do a little bit of 'shrooms in a quiet little basement and not only is he unsure about the quality of the drugs, but the fucking door's gone and slammed and left him stuck.

It takes him a second of cursing and pounding before he realizes that he's not alone, but clearly it's not like the person trapped down the well with you is going to get help. They need a Lassie; a very unsuspecting, willing to help patsy. Someone like Mike.

"Hey!" he shouts, knocking on the door a little harder, even if he's starting to multitask, turning around to his partner in prison to show off the little baggie he's been collecting. "Quick opinion, how high do you think these'll make me?" he asks, gesturing to it, seeing as if he's going to get stuck in the middle of Assfuck, Nowhere, he might as well get some opinions.

text it

m seeking f, looking for a good time, come around and I'll make my cock your destiny

[katerrifically]

1 - MILK FOR FREE

Having a source of milk also meant having a source of butter and having butter meant that buttercream frosting could be made... Eventually... Hopefully... Maybe not. It was entirely possible that she would never again get to make and then eat frosting. Worse yet, she may never get to hear that noise people made when they tried one of her cupcakes and frosting for the first time. It was music to her ears.

That was one of her goals while stuck in this strange world, to make cupcakes in that sad little excuse for a kitchen. It was a selfish goal born of pride. Kate knew that and was choosing to do what she did best which was to ignore aspects that she didn't like.

Still, if she was going to do that Kate needed to get the milk first.

In what she hoped was a comforting manner, Kate patted the Groffle's shoulder as she moved past the animal. She then sat down her pail and stool before sitting down herself. It was only then that she realized that she didn't have a clue what she was doing. Kate had seen a cow being milked before but that was on television. Did she squeeze and tug? Should she pull and rub? She did not want to be kicked into oblivion or trampled on.

Bravado could only take her so far. Kate sighed and then stood. She knew someone else was in the barn, she could hear them. There were no sounds of distress from either the beast or the person, Kate assumed that the person knew what they were doing. She walked over and approached them.

"Excuse me, I hate to bother you but do you think you could show me how to do that?" Her smile was polite if hesitant.

3 - MEET CUTE

Kate had dried the herbs and plants herself. She had dried blackberry leaves, dried peaches and dried blackberry root. There were no berries because they had proven to be too delicious to give up. But what she had brought had uses! They could be made into teas, mouth washes and a few other things.

She made sure the door was wide open and would stay open before stepping into the cellar. Kate didn't like that the walls were made of dirt. She didn't like dirt but she supposed that as long as the dirt stayed in wall form, she could tolerate it. She was only going to be down there long enough to put away the supplies.

As she was putting the goods away, she heard footsteps. "Please make sure that door stays open," Kate called out just before hearing the door slam. Her brain processed that sound for a few moments before it dawned on her. No! No! NO! They She moved quickly to the door and then tried to push it open. The door would not budge. Kate twisted the handle. "It won't open. Why won't it open?"

Claustrophobia, thy name was Kate Cordello.

TEXT

1. Does anyone have any containers they'd be willing to part with temporarily? I want to start a garden.

2. Curious. What is the longest that anyone has been here?

[getgabbin]

Genn knew well enough what he was doing though if he was honest, this was the first time he actually did any such menial tasks personally. Still, it wasn't all that hard for him to put what he knew into practice and the groffle wasn't all that different from the cows back home, save for in looks so far.

Fortunately he had been finishing his own business with the beast as he heard her approach, only turning partially to look up at her once she'd voiced her question. "I can." He moved to claim the bucket beneath his own animal and set it up out of the way so it couldn't be carelessly overturned by accident. He trusted it'd remain there until his return, or he'd end up having to find the thief and give them a valuable lesson in why one did not steal, especially from a Gilnean.

"Where is your groffle?"

kamala khan (ms. marvel) | marvel 616 | 1 & 3

[morphogenia]

The Milk for Free:

Kamala Khan has never lived on a farm. She is a city girl and super proud of it. This is not her rodeo or rather kidnapping. When you find yourself in a super weird place, you do what needs to be done. She is going to milk this guy if it kills her!!! It certainly helps things that this fella is super cute by her standards. "Okay, we're doing this. Sorry if I totally suck!"

She goes at it as careful and gentle as she can. She is rewarded with some very weird milk. She tries and fails not to make a face at it. It smells fine so that helps? She goes at it until someone gives her some idea when it is good time to stop.

She sighs wearily and asks no one in particular, "Do I get a girl scout badge for this? I feel like this earned me one." Whatever she is going to get her hands washed.

Meet Cute:

As a part of her epic plan not to be a completely useless child, Kamala has gathered fresh produce to be dropped off. She is very proud of her self for this. It feels like the least terrible parts of Reims. She smiles bittersweetly as she recalls gathering with Max and texting her between baskets.

This may not have been as fun as that, but it still feels good to be helpful. What feels less good? Being trapped. Kamala can't help being nervous. She's tried very hard to unlearn her Reim survival instincts. If her companion starts shouting and trying to break down the door? She will openly flinch and look upset. She tries to cover it with a suggestion should they do that. If not? She will still come up with this anyways.

Kamala offers up a soft smile. "It's fine. There's probably tools down here. Let's get the door off." She's off to search for just that. Everything will be fine. She's got this. Just give her some time, new friend!!!

the milk for free

[ashandflame]

Jean is also not a country girl so the idea of milking anything, much less a Very Weird Animal, is foreign to her. Still, she isn't the kind of person to just back down from a challenge and just when she's gotten herself prepared to do the thing, turns out that someone else is already there on the fluffy monster she'd picked for herself. Huh.

"I think the scouts give badges for farm stuff," Jean says, squinting a bit at the other girl. She looks familiar. Really familiar.

"I know this is going to sound really weird - but I think I know you. It's Ms. Marvel, right?"

Margret (Maggie) Elizabeth de Crane - Original Character - MEET CUTE

[itisunpleasant]

Helping was second nature for Maggie. It was why she had opened up her heart to anyone who walked through the door to her shop; ringing that silly little bell that she loved so much. It was also an automatic thing; sometimes she couldn't say no.

This was a case of being unable to say no. She'd been carrying a basket of vegetables into the cellar when she heard another set of footsteps and the door close. "Hello?" A thick British accent accompanied the sweet voice as she searched for a source to the sudden noise.

"Is someone else down here?"

It was a little creepy but Maggie was determined to put away the vegetables and return the basket to its rightful place upstairs.

[enterprisingheart]

"Ah, yes, actually."

Like hers, the voice comes with a British accent attached. Admittedly, his isn't as thick as hers, but it's hard to mistake all the same. It's also fairly clearly a male voice; a moment later the owner of the voice comes into sight from around a corner.

"My apologies, I wasn't aware anyone else was down here."

The Iron Bull | DAI

[ataashihunter]

2: Being out in the wilderness is not something foreign to The Iron Bull. He's spent plenty of time travelling, fighting and adventuring, but it isn't often he just goes somewhere to enjoy the beauty of nature. Most of the time he does notice it is on a grand scale, like a mountain pass, the ocean or a dragon. Most of the time when he noticed beauty it was in other people. But the little blue flowers at his feet had drawn his attention and he had ended up picking a few of them. He remembered a drunken dare from Krem and ends up making a small flower crown. He doesn't think any more of it until he touches the door to the inn and lighting flies from his fingers. He swears loudly. "Vashe-qalab" You don't really need to understand Qunlat to understand that it was swearing.

The Iron Bull | DAI

[super_seal]

He’s walking by the Inn when he hears the crack of lightning and the unfamiliar swear. Never being one to run from danger, Steve runs towards the sound.

“You okay? What happened?” He asks in a rush as he assess both Bull and the door to the Inn.

The effects of the Blue Lily are not yet familiar to Steve so he doesn’t even notice the crown on top the other man’s head. At least not yet.

James Potter | that series about a kid who lived in a closet | 1

[thelionharted]

James Potter has likely never milked a thing in his life. Maybe in Potions, or Care of Magical Creatures, but it’s doubtful. Another thing he’s never been without in his life is magic, which could make this somewhat more complicated. At least the creature’s somewhat familiar-looking by his standards, and he reaches to give it a friendly pat.

“Sorry if I’m awful at this,” he says to the groffle. “I’m more used to hair potions, not, you know, milking beasts. Just don’t kick me, hopefully.” He settles down and gets to work, or tries to. It’s a bit slow going.

diana prince | dceu

[aspires]

MEET CUTE.

Normally the door wouldn't be a problem - brute force has taken down structures far tougher than this one, and as much as she'd prefer to avoid opening a door like a battering ram where possible this really would be an appropriate situation. That's not an option though, not here, and much as she's loathe to admit it the adjustment to being powerless has been far more difficult than she would have anticipated. Is this how humans feel all the time?

After a few more futile attempts at jiggling the handle, at least one heavy sigh and a whole lot of running escape scenarios through her mind, she turns to the other person in the room with her.

Well, she has been meaning to make more efforts towards socialising with the others here. Silver lining?

"It won't budge," she says, despite the fact that this is abundantly obvious, "do... you know anyone good with doors?"

TEXTS.

Is there a reason why the milk is green, or is it supposed to be that way?

( guess who found the groffles )

MISC.

( text her something! or throw me a scenario if you're feeling something special! questions/queries can be directed via pm or to sharknado )

meet cute

[freightcars]

He sighs before she even turns to him, sighs because he can hear the handle jiggling and he knows exactly what that means. That damn door, he thinks, was purposefully designed to make his life hell. It doesn't happen every time, just often enough that he's let his guard down and then bam, three hours of waiting in a root cellar for someone to come along and take pity on him.

He's gonna have to mention it to Clint sometime, if anyone were capable of fixing it Clint would be.

He slips politely past her at the question, wraps a metal hand around the handle and shoves down. From time to time that'd been known to loosen the mechanism, but of course, no such luck.

"In here?" He asks dryly, offers her something of a bitchy shrug. "Maybe the rutabagas."

Danny Rand - Ironfist

[theimmortalweapon]

LIGHTNING ROD

The plants and animals here were different from what he had learned about in Kun' Lun. Of course, New York didn't have those plants either but New York lacked a lot of plants that weren't perfectly situation in the large concrete city. It was nice to be trapped in a place with so much to offer but he was still trapped.

Danny knelt down next to the blue flower, running his fingers over it's petals. He thought he could sense something from the plant but that couldn't be right. He hadn't been able to summon his fist which means whatever connection he'd had to Shou Loa had been broken.

He frowned and carefully plucked the flower. Danny wasn't a flower loving kind of guy but he could be found returning to town with a few plants, most of which he didn't recognize. Hopefully none of them were dangerous.

MEDITATION

A world that he can't explain and some poorly fashioned scrubs. It felt like he was back in the mental institute that Ward had put him in.

It wasn't a comfortable feeling but Danny needed time to push his discomfort aside.

He sat near the center of the town, listening to the soft currents of the fountain with his legs crossed beneath him. He had tugged off his shirt, revealing the black dragon tattoo on his chest as the sun warmed his skin. He cleared his mind of all thoughts in an attempt to push his growing frustration away.

It wasn't really working.

TEXTS

This watch isn't going to zap me or anything... is it?

[There is a seconds pause before a few other texts follow in quick succession.]

Hi, I'm Danny Rand.
I'm wondering if there is anyone from New York here?

Meditation!

[theluckygirl]

After some lunch, Claire left the inn and spots Danny by the fountain and remembers Colleen trying to teach her the art of meditation. It's then that she realizes how much she misses her friend and how glad she is that he's there. But that was for selfish reasons.

She comes closer, noticing his frustration and sympathizes. Claire has been there more times than she can count now and one reaches a point where they can't help but question if it will ever stop.

No one has been able to answer that question yet.

"You know," Claire starts quietly. "I remember someone once saying you should 'always work from a position of strength'."

Sure, he was talking about bringing Madame Gao along and there was some other stuff before that about never letting the enemy choose the battlefield but they were still wise words.